Once More, With Feeling?
by Capsule Cray
Summary: Capsule Corps. is about to get one half-Saiyan bigger, but not without the expected shenanigans from our favorite, dysfunctional DBZ family. This is going to be my first multiple chapter submission; I'll do my best to update in a speedy manner!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: don't own DBZ, y'all!

I.

Sick Day

Trunks darted through the front door of the Brief family home, headed, undoubtedly for food. He and his father had been training for hours; they had _almost _trained through lunch, which was a rarity for the father/son warrior duo. Left to his own devices, Vegeta would easily skip a lunch in favor of training, making up for the lack of sustenance in a double helping at dinner. Trunks, however, never let his father forget a lunch break. It was one of the many small compromises the Saiyan Prince found himself making over the years in his ill-fitting "father" role.

"Hey there, you, working hard?" a voice cued from the sitting room, noting the late lunch time.

Vegeta turned to his wife, who sat perched on the couch, surrounded by paper work and blueprints. She was clad in yoga pants (which Vegeta had learned he liked very much, both on his wife and for his own training purposes,) and a Capsule Corp. t-shirt, her hair and makeup undone. She looked odd, somehow, like she was too pale, but also too flushed. He couldn't decide which.

"It is Tuesday," the Saiyan noted flatly, studying his mate.

Bulma knew this to be Vegeta-speak for "_why are you home and not at work? What has merited a change in the routine? Is there some obligation I have forgotten that requires my presence? Are you going to shout in that horrid tone you take with me because I have forgotten said obligation?"_

"Don't worry, I'm just taking a sick day," the scientist assured her husband, rolling her eyes at his predictable manner.

"Sick?" Vegeta frowned. Bulma, in general, was a very healthy human, as well as a workaholic. It was rare that she ever took ill and rarer still that she took off work. This circumstance, he feared, would lead to a large amount of unwanted work for him; she would need to be "checked" on, fetched pills and glasses of water in the evenings while he tried to sleep, and most insufferably, he would find himself_ concerned _about her well-being while trying to focus on his training. She was, after all, a human, and humans were so pathetically weak that disease and infection could actually kill them.

Bulma shrugged, flipping through a stack of papers. "Yeah, it's the strangest thing! I've been throwing up and dizzy all morning! It's probably just a 24 hour thing, though. I feel a lot better now," she flashed her husband a smile, setting the papers she held beside her and reaching for a new stack. "And boy am I glad; this work isn't going to do itself!"

Vegeta continued to frown, crossing his arms. "Perhaps you should rest. Your work cannot possibly require completion this very day," he suggested, feeling the annoying tug of worry in the back of his mind.

"And I guess _you_ can't possibly require this house, or lunch, or a gravity room to train in with our son who _also _can't possibly require food or shelter," Bulma replied, shaking her head as she skimmed through a blueprint. "Honestly, it's like you really don't get it! This stuff doesn't just _magically_ appear for you to use! Here on Earth, we _work _for our possessions, not play intergalactic-finders-keepers, genocide edition!"

"Because that was SO easy and not hard work AT ALL," the Saiyan Prince shot, glaring at his mate, then storming off to locate his son and lunch. She was so _infuriating_ sometimes.

Smirking, Bulma returned to her work. He was so easy to bate, that husband of hers. Her amusement was cut short, however, by her turning stomach. She tossed her papers down and ran for the nearest bathroom, just making the toilet as what little was left of her breakfast came back with an admirable vengeance. She groaned, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and easing into a sitting position. She felt terrible. Hell, the last time she had felt this bad was…

"MOM! Dad broke the refrigerator! It wasn't me this time! I swear!" a voice yelled from down the hall, followed by the (not so) muffled sounds of Saiyans wrestling and name calling.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: you know, you know, don't own

II.

Freak Out

Bulma fidgeted nervously with the hem of her shirt, pacing back and forth in the master bedroom. Ironic, she thought, how much better she would feel if she could just have a cigarette. She cleared her throat, preparing to rehearse again. "Hey, Vegeta, you Legendary Super Saiyan, Prince of All Saiyans, you," she grimaced and shook her head. "Yo, Homeboy, you put a bun in this oven!" Alas, it was no use. There was going to be no good, easy, or even possible way to break this news. She was at a complete loss.

"I can assure you, _no one_ has put _anything_ in the oven as of late. I certainly haven't, so don't go and blame me for something your idiot mother probably did," Vegeta's gruff voice interrupted the scientist's pessimistic musings, appearing, arms ever crossed, in the doorway.

Bulma jumped, face bright red. "How long have you been standing there!?" she demanded, hoping he really was just that oblivious, and not trying to make a bad joke.

The Saiyan Prince raised an eyebrow. "Long enough to hear you blabbering to yourself," he replied coolly. He looked at his wife, her cheeks flushed and demeanor flustered, ki unfamiliar and behavior undecipherable. Something was amiss, and he knew it. "What's wrong with you?" he demanded, his intense gaze unyielding.

"Nothing is _wrong_ with me," the blue-haired vixen replied, placing her hands on her hips indignantly.

"Unacceptable. Tell me," Vegeta persisted, now fixated on her ki and what in the world was awry with it. "Or I will _make_ you tell me."

Bulma sighed, dropping her arms to her sides. Her husband could be a real brute, sometimes. She knew he'd never lay a hand (an unwanted one, anyway) on her, but she also knew between both of their stubborn ways, they would spend the whole day standing there, staring each other down. "Ok, I'm going to tell you, but don't freak out," she relented.

Vegeta said nothing, but did not break eye contact, a silent signal for his wife to continue.

Taking a deep breath, the scientist closed her eyes and finally spit out the words she had been choking on all morning: "I'm pregnant." Slowly opening her eyes, one and then the other, Bulma studied her husband. He was still staring at her, as if she had said nothing. Maybe she didn't say it; maybe she just thought she said it. Maybe he didn't hear her? With a little more confidence, she tried again. "I'm pregnant, Vegeta."

"I heard you the _first_ time," the Saiyan replied through gritted teeth.

"Then, HELLO, say something!" Bulma snapped, hands returning to their sassy perch on her shapely hips.

Vegeta's eye twitched. "What do you _want_ me to say, woman?" He shot, teeth stilled barred and fists clenched.

"How about, _gee, _that's great, Bulma! Or _wow, _I'm so excited! At this point, even a freak out would be preferable! I think I have some spaceships parked outside—it's not too late if ya wanna hop in one and _hide_ in space for the next _seven months_! Like LAST TIME!" The beautiful scientist promptly slapped her shaking husband, then pushed past him and stormed down the hallway.

Once she had reached the opposite end of the house, Bulma let out a great sigh of relief. "Well, that went better than expected," she admitted triumphantly, smirking. There had been no explosions, no attempted Saiyan suicides, and _minimal _verbal abuse. Although she accepted the flaw in this line of reasoning, she let it slide; she was married to Vegeta, after all, so her standards needed to be a little lower in some regards.

After Vegeta had the chance to calm down, and was quite sure he wouldn't literally tear the woman limb from limb, he went to find his mate and offer some sort of olive branch. "_Please_ be a son," he muttered under his breath, quite sure any daughter of Bulma Brief's would be the death of him—a death infinitely more insufferable than the other two he'd experienced.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Don't own it, yo!

III.

Tea Talk

"So, he hasn't left the solar system yet?" the raven-haired woman inquired callously, sipping her herbal tea.

"Nope, so far he's still in this gravitational field," replied the blue-haired woman sitting across from her, also enjoying a cup of tea. "Come on Chi-Chi, cut him some slack. I know he's not your favorite person, but he's taking this surprisingly well!" Bulma defended her grumpy mate, although she understood Chi-Chi's perspective; Vegeta's greatest desire was to pummel Chi-Chi's kind hearted husband into an unrecognizable pile of Kakarot bones.

Chi-Chi rolled her eyes, finding Bulma's defense of the no-good Saiyan Prince weak, at best.

"I mean," Bulma began again, "it's not like he's attending my Lamaze classes or shopping for breast pumps or anything," she snorted at the mental image of this, "but I know he cares. He just has his…own…_Vegeta_ way of showing it."

"Is he going to be there for the birth, then?" Chi-Chi raised her eyebrow, attempting to stifle a chuckle at her own mental image.

Bulma, however, stifled nothing, and laughed outright. "The man can't handle worms, Chi-Chi, do you really think he could make it through one minute of watching childbirth?"

At this, both women cackled hysterically. As she wiped a tear of laughter from her eye, however, the younger woman's face became serious. "Are you concerned at all? I know you had some trouble with Trunks."

The scientist shrugged. "Well, you know just as well as I do, half-Saiyan babies aren't entirely compatible with whole-human mothers," she answered, gripping her tea cup a little tighter. "Was it worse the second time around for you?"

Chi-Chi shook her head. "No, about the same. I mean, it wasn't a walk in the park," she put a hand on Bulma's and gave a comforting smile, "but it never is, am I right? I wouldn't worry."

Bulma returned the smile and nodded, "I'm not, really. I have the best doctors money can buy, after all! I just don't know how I'm going to explain away a tail on the sonogram!" Both women laughed again, breaking the tension in the air. Bulma, however, _was_ worried. Trunks's birth had been less than ideal, and she was a good decade older this time around. Her children could _not_ grow up in a single parent household in which that parent was Vegeta: Prince of All Saiyans, former planet-destroying terrorist, entertainment-system challenged monkey alien. The end of family movie nights would be the least of their problems.

"Alright then, just let me know if you need anything," Chi-Chi said supportively, finishing her last mouthful of tea. "I've gotta get going, you know how the boys get when dinner is late."

Bulma could sense the bitterness in her friend's tone, and smiled to herself. "Don't get me started. You would not _believe _what the Prince of All Saiyans and his heir did to our refrigerator," she commiserated, shaking her head.

"Honestly, we must be the _most_ patient women on Earth!" Chi-Chi insisted as the two headed for the door.

"Ha, yeah…" Bulma tried to keep a straight face, imagining herself ever using the adjective "patient" to describe her old friend. "Anyway, thanks for coming by!"

"Glad to!" Chi-Chi waved goodbye, and Bulma shut the door with a sigh.

"More like _craziest_ women on Earth," the scientist mumbled to herself, returning to the kitchen in search of something sweet—preferably strawberries. Or maybe pickles. Or both. She opened the _new _refrigerator door and rummaged around, observing with annoyance that her husband and son had left her with little to satisfy her cravings. Deciding on a pudding cup, she shut the fridge and turned to get a spoon. Before she got to the drawer, however, her husband handed her one.

"Thanks," she replied with a grin, peeling the lid of the pudding away and digging in. "Where have you been?" she asked, eyeing the handsome Saiyan in his undeniably delicious spandex shorts.

"Training," Vegeta replied, noting his mate's gaze.

"I don't know why I even ask anymore," the scientist joked, swallowing her mouthful. "You just missed Chi-Chi."

"How…regrettable," the Saiyan muttered stiffly.

"Aw, she wanted to see you, too," Bulma continued to tease, leaning in closer, the spoon in her mouth becoming a seductive, demonstrative prop. "I'll fill ya in on all our girl talk if you…fill _me_ in…on your training sesh, I mean," she purred.

"Your conversation with Kakarot's wench is of no concern to me," Vegeta replied, although his hand traveled to Bulma's hip, signifying that he was amenable to the rest of her suggestion. He pulled her against him, taking the spoon from her hand and tossing it aside. He then began to remove her shirt, eyes hungry for her even-better-than-usual chest. As he touched her, however, he felt it—that ever so _annoying_ flutter of unease in the pit of his stomach. Bulma and Chi-Chi's conversation actually _did_ concern him; he had listened to their entire exchange from the neighboring room. Was his fragile, human mate in some sort of potential danger? He cursed humans and their innate weakness as his mouth found its way down his wife's neck and breasts.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Dontownit

IV.

Name Game

"So, what are you gonna name it?" Trunks pointed at his mother's now showing stomach from across the table. It used to be, before the "Big Buu Incident," as Bulma had taken to calling it, the Brief family triad was rarely in the same room together for more than a few minutes. Now, however, it was an unspoken statute that all three presented for a meal, or other shared activity, daily. It had never been suggested or discussed; it just happened, the way a lot of things happened after that fateful battle.

On this morning, their family-togetherness-time had taken the form of breakfast. Trunks and Vegeta sat at the table, devouring a dozen eggs each, while Bulma stood across from them, leaned against the counter, drinking her regrettably decaffeinated coffee. She pondered her son's question, then shrugged. "I don't know, I haven't thought about! We don't even know the gender yet."

"I hope it's a boy," Trunks said with enthusiasm. "Then I can help Dad train him!"

Bulma smiled, unable to hide how happy she was with her son, his father, and their _beyond_ adorable relationship. "Hey, maybe a girl would want to train with you guys, too!" She countered, "and, maybe a boy would want to build robots with his super cool Mom."

"It will be a son," Vegeta stated, "and he should be called Vegeta." The Saiyan had cared very little about naming his first child, as he had been indifferent about the brat altogether in its first few months of life. Once he had decided to stay on Earth and train Trunks, however, he had suggested to Bulma that the child's rightful title be "Vegeta," continuing the royal family name. This was, unsurprisingly, met with opposition.

"Well, I guess Vegeta is one of those names that could work for a boy _or_ a girl, so we'll put it on the list," Bulma replied with a smirk.

"It could not be a _girl_ name, you idiot woman," Vegeta hissed, accidentally bending his fork as he clenched his fist around it.

Exchanging glances, Bulma and Trunks bit back their laughter. Taking the joke further, Bulma put a hand to her chin, pretending to be deep in contemplation. "You know," she began with exaggerated thoughtfulness, "it only seems right that I name this baby after my oldest friend! The one who has saved my life a million times! _The_ greatest guy on Earth! Whaddya say, Vegeta? Let's call our son _Goku_!"

At this, Trunks fell backwards from this chair, laughing so hard that tears formed in his eyes. Bulma joined, supporting herself with a hand on the counter, doubled over (as much as she could be, given her baby bump,) in hysterical laughter.

"OH THAT IS _VERY_ FUNNY," Vegeta growled, standing up and knocking his own chair backwards.

"Relax, would ya?" Bulma managed between fits of stitches, smiling at her husband. "You know I wouldn't! Besides, it's a girl!"

Vegeta's anger seemed to subside immediately, his enraged expression replaced with one of utter perplexity. "You know this? How?" he insisted.

The scientist shook her head, placing a hand on her stomach. "I don't _know_, I just have a feeling!"

Still intrigued, the Saiyan Prince approached his wife, eyeing her swollen belly with apprehension. "Can Earth women detect such things with accuracy? What about potential size and health?"

Bulma rolled her eyes. "Geeze Vegeta, read a book. Do ya wanna know her favorite color, too?"

The Saiyan narrowed his eyes at his mate, crossing his arms. "Well how am I supposed to know? I am not familiar with _human_ childbearing mechanics."

"I'm quite sure you don't know anything about _any _childbearing, human, Saiyan, Namekian, or what have you," Bulma replied, furrowing her brow. "So don't you worry about it!"

"I do not take orders from _you_," Vegeta reminded her, one of his usual mantras. "I will worry about it if I damn well please!" He paused, face reddening. "I mean—I'm _not_ worried about it. I care not at all about what _silly _name you give the brat, or what _idiotic_ premonitions you have about its sex, or any of this human gestation_ annoyance _in general. " With that, the Saiyan Prince stormed from the kitchen, the slam of the front door audible soon thereafter.

"Wow, he's really freaking out," Trunks noted, settling back into his chair.

"Oh yeah," Bulma agreed.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: #youknow

V.

3:02 a.m.

The small digital clock on the bedside table read 3:02 a.m., the faint glow of the numbers and fullness of the moon providing a dim illumination of the room. All occupants of the usually buzzing Capsule Corp. were either gone or asleep, save the contemplative alien Prince. Sitting cross-legged on the bed, he intently watched his sleeping mate, her chest rising and falling with each breath. Despite her large stomach, she looked smaller, more fragile than she ever had to him. The discomfort this caused radiated throughout his body, his muscles instinctively tightening, gearing to battle an invisible and untouchable opponent.

"If you stare any longer, you'll burn two holes in its head," a sleep voice breathed. Bulma opened one eye, then the other, and gave her husband a sideways smile. "Wanna talk about it?"

"Hn," was Vegeta's only reply, but this was not a definite _no_, so the blue-haired scientist invited herself to continue.

With slight difficulty, Bulma wedged her arms under her back and fidgeted into a seated position. Her husband tensed again.

"Was it this large last time?" he inquired stiffly, eyeing her swollen midsection.

"Oh yeah," Bulma assured him with a grin, "even bigger. We have another two months to go!" she said, resting a hand on the unborn child.

The Saiyan said nothing at first, eyes still focused on his mate's torso. Finally, with great reluctance, he spoke. "I am uncomfortable with this process," he stated. "I was not here during your carrying of the first brat. I should have been." Vegeta looked down, making a fist with his hand, his perceived severity of the situation being the only thing that protected his cheeks from blushing at such a vulnerable admittance.

Bulma's smile dropped, her expression now one of empathy for the uncomfortable alien. "Hey," she began, covering his fist with a gentle hand, "I don't blame you for that. I never have. I know I tease you, but ya can't take it to heart! Things were different then, Vegeta. Your priority needed to be beating the androids. I supported that. And we weren't married then; Hell, I don't even think we were friends! I know I couldn't stand _you_ one bit, anyway," she smiled again, giving his hand a squeeze. She wondered, distantly, if his powerful body could even register such gesture. "What matters is that you stayed for Trunks, and for me, and you're here now. You could have left any time these last ten years. You haven't, and I know what that means."

At this, Vegeta did blush, shifting uncomfortably in the presence of such an emotional display. Bulma released his hand, removing some of the intimacy in an attempt to appease him. "So don't worry about it, ok?" she insisted.

"Why have you never told me there were complications with Trunks's birth?" the Saiyan demanded, ignoring Bulma's previous comment. His eyes rose to meet hers, face dark and brows furrowed.

The scientist blinked, quite taken aback by the inquisition. "Who told you that? Was it my mother? Geeze she cannot keep a secret," she lamented, exhaling and shaking her head with annoyance.

"I overheard you and Kakarot's woman," Vegeta corrected. "And I hear your _secret_ conversations with your parents and doctors. My hearing far surpasses that of a mere human's. I am not an idiot, and do not appreciate being treated as such."

Bulma bit her lip, realizing she'd been caught red handed. "I'm sorry," she confessed, giving him her most convincing please-forgive-me-look-how-cute-I-am face. "I didn't want you to worry! I've known you feel guilty about not being there when I had Trunks, and you're freaking out anyway, so I didn't see the point in adding to it."

"Didn't see the _point?_" the Saiyan growled, dismissing his wife's admittedly persuasive expression. "You are the mother of my children. I have sacrificed my _life_ for you! Do I not deserve to know what is happening with your health? What would happen if you are killed? I cannot be responsible for both of these brats without you! I cannot be without you." His words hit the still air like a brick through a window, and they both sat silently, feeling the weight of them.

"I'm not going anywhere," Bulma said finally, "we're doing this together. Of course I wouldn't leave _you_ to raise _my_ children. Don't you worry."

"I'm not _worried,_" the Saiyan assured his woman, "and I'm not freaking out."


	6. Chapter 6

Hey all! Sorry it's been so long since my last update! The past few weeks have been crazy with finals and job searches. All was successful, though! Thanks for your patience I'll try and be more prompt in the future.

Disclaimer: Don't own!

VI.

Speed

Bulma leaned in the doorway of her home unit, arms crossed and perched on her large belly. She watched her alien husband as he cartwheeled back and forth across the lawn, punching and kicking at the air with such intent that it was easy to forget he was only training and not in the midst of a real fight. He stopped when he felt her gaze upon him, and immediately approached her, pausing only to collect his towel and water bottle from the ground.

"Don't stop on my account," the scientist insisted, grinning at the sweaty Vegeta as he stood before her.

"Woman, what are you doing?" he demanded, glaring at her.

"I'm not doing anything," Bulma replied innocently, shrugging her shoulders ever so softly that the essence of theatrics was almost undetectable.

Vegeta narrowed his eyes, unimpressed and undeceived by the act. "You know what I mean," he said through his teeth. At her most recent check-up, Bulma's doctor had suggested the expectant mother stay in bed for the remainder of the pregnancy. This, of course, was not the heiress's style; she had far too much company work and baby preparation to do to be confined to her home, much less her bed. Her unwillingness to comply, of course, did not sit well with the Saiyan Prince. "I will not have you bouncing about like an idiot all day, endangering both it and yourself."

"_She_ and I," Bulma corrected with sassy authority, "will be just fine." Aside from being put on bed rest at the appointment, the doctor had also been able to identify the gender of the baby as female. While the beautiful scientist could not have been happier, she could tell her husband was _uncomfortable _with the development. His refusal to use feminine pronouns was just one of the many indicators of this.

"Hn," was Vegeta's only counter. He had learned several months ago not to argue with her in this state; it would inevitably trap him in a hormonal Hell which he wished very much to avoid during his training hours. He wiped the sweat from his forehead away with the back of his hand (despite the available towel slung over his shoulder), then took a drink of his water bottle. Noting his mate made no move to leave, but instead eyed him keenly, he grew suspicious. "What do you want?"

Bulma gave another, not-so-innocent shrug, and took a step closer to him, admiring his shirtless form. "Just wanted to see what you were…_up_ to," she replied, tracing his pectorals with a seductive finger, which traveled south in a teasing lilt.

The Saiyan Prince blinked, then backed away, cheeks crimson. "Oh, you cannot be serious!" He shot, shaking his head.

"And why not!?" the scientist demanded, placing her hands on her hips, cheeks threatening to match her partner's. "Am I too ugly for you now, huh!? Too fat!? Because let me tell _you_, Mr. Bad Man, all of this speed training you do didn't really pay off where it mattered, did it!? Because this is _your_ fault! Sure, fly around the world in less than a minute, but Kame forbid you pull out in time-"

"SHUT UP! We are not discussing this!" Vegeta put his hands over his ears, face now so red it looked as though his head were about to explode.

"Come on! I'm dying! You haven't touched me in weeks and what good is being bed ridden if I can't do what I do best in bed!" Bulma pleaded, now taking her husband's hand and pouting her lips in the way she knew he found irresistible.

"Vulgar woman," the Saiyan shot, avoiding any eye contact with his wife's beckoning mouth, "absolutely not! Look at you, you're going to burst at any moment! I'm quite certain what you're asking would _kill _the both of you in your condition. Now get a hold of yourself!"

"Easy for you to say," the blue-haired genius grumbled, releasing Vegeta's hand and relenting. "I'd feel better if I could spend all day working out, too."

The Saiyan opened his mouth to correct his mate; she knew he did not like his training to be referred to by the stupid Earth phrase "working out." However, he stopped himself. She looked so tired, like their exchange had drained whatever energy she had stored for the day. His posture and tone softened slightly. "Rest, woman," he instructed, "if not for yourself, for the girl."

Bulma smirked. "You actually admitted it's a girl," she noted, leaning back against the wall.

Vegeta rolled his eyes. For a genius, his wife sure spent a lot of time stating the obvious.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: don't own these crazy cats! Please R&amp;R :)

VII.

Freak Out Pt. 2

Ducking, Trunks narrowly missed a way-harder-than-necessary blow from his father's stern fist. Now, way-harder-than-necessary attacks were not anything new between the half-Saiyan and his royal patriarch; in fact, they were so common that Trunks had learned to decode their motivations. For instance, there was the you-reached-the-legendary-form-as-a-child-and-I-worked-decades-to-achieve-it-way-harder-than-necessary-attack, the you-are-too-cocky-for-your-own-good-way-harder-than-necessary-attack, and of course, the ever popular, you-let-Kakarot's-son-best-you-therefore-you-have-shamed-the-royal-line-way-harder-than-necessary-attack. This way-harder-than-necessary punch, however, was different from any of the usual timbres. There was no tone of underlying revenge, no calculated pain per shame equation. No, this was different—accidental, a slip of control, a sure sign of some sort of inner turmoil.

"Geeze Dad, watch it!" the lilac haired boy protested, rubbing his scraped knee, a result of his hurried dodge.

"_You_ should be the one watching," the full-blooded Saiyan retorted, although it was a weak retaliation and he knew it; he had come close to hurting the brat.

"Yeah, yeah," Trunks said with a sign, standing up and stretching, grateful that the gravity was at least set at a tolerable level. "What's up your butt?" he changed subjects, unwilling to let the unexplained way-harder-than-necessary factor go.

Vegeta frowned; he wished his son had gotten more language from himself, and less from his wife. "Nothing is _up my butt_," he replied, the last three words through gritted teeth. "I am simply providing the necessary structure for your development as a Saiyan warrior."

Trunks rolled his eyes. "Uh-huh, whatever. Seems like you're just freaking out about Mom and the baby! Calm down, would ya?" He knew his father was on edge about the pregnancy, especially now that they knew it was a girl, Bulma was supposed to be on bedrest (but was on her own, very much un-bedded rest schedule), and the birth was ever approaching. He knew his parents often overlooked how perceptive he was, and liked it that way, as their expressions when he surprised them with a presentation of omniscient insight never ceased to entertain.

"I am not _freaking out_. If one more miserable Earthling says that to me, they will be _very_ sorry, and that does not exclude _you_ or your mother, so I _wouldn't_ if I were you," the Saiyan Prince warned, eyes dark and intentions very clear.

"Ok, ok, ha, ha," Trunks put his hands up and backed away, smiling nervously. "Just joking around, Dad, lighten up!"

"Everything is a joke to you," Vegeta muttered, crossing his arms; yet another insufferable trait the boy had acquired from Bulma. "It is ill-fitting of a serious warrior. I see nothing funny enough to merit such constant comedic nonsense."

Frowning, Trunks mulled the comment over. "I guess that's true," he agreed, thoughtfully rubbing his chin with his hand, "but joking around always makes me feel better." He paused, reading the situation and his father's affect before he continued. "I'm kinda worried about Mom, too," he finally admitted, sheepishly putting his hands in his pockets, avoiding any eye contact, lest the moment become too intimate.

Surprised, Vegeta looked down at the boy. "What? Why?" he demanded, noting with great annoyance the effort it took to keep the edge from his voice.

"I mean, she looks so tired. And I hear her talk to Grandma…she's gonna be ok, right Dad?" the half-Saiyan finally looked at his father, cheeks tinged red with the embarrassment of his emotion, lower lip bitten and eyes stinging.

The Saiyan Prince, quite taken aback by the brazen display, froze. He found himself speechless; he did not know what was to become of his wife, nor the unborn child. Therefore, even if he wanted to, he had no consolation to give his son. In fact, he had none to give himself. Several moments elapsed, the silence becoming thick, until finally Vegeta found words that suited him. "We are done for the day. We will continue tomorrow."

With that, the Saiyan turned and left the gravity room and his perplexed heir. Moving with casual- yet-steady momentum, he barged through the house and into his wife's home office, where she sat tinkering with a few small tools. "Hey, Veg-" she began, but was cut off as her husband snatched the tools from her hands, tossed them aside, and hoisted her into his arms. "HEY, watch it, pal, I'll _pop_! What are you doing!?" the scientist demanded, pounding on the Saiyan's chest, although she had learned many years ago that this served only as an illustration of her own irritation and nothing more.

"What I _should_ have done the first time you disobeyed orders," Vegeta replied darkly.

"_I_ don't take orders from _you!_" Bulma snapped back, noting the reversal of their usual roles.

"Not _my_ orders," the Prince corrected, "_your_ doctor's. You will stay in the bedroom until that child is born and I will _not_ tolerate any more insolence regarding the matter." He proceeded to carry the protesting genius to their shared bedroom, where he dropped her on the bed (with, perhaps, less delicacy than appropriate).

"Vegeta you big brute, I have work to do! Haven't we been over this!? I make money so _you_ can make explosions, remember that conversation!?" Bulma huffed, crossing her arms indignantly.

"SHUT UP," the Saiyan growled, teeth gritted and face serious. "I don't care about your work or Earth money or any other ridiculous thing you keep prattling on about. YOU are what I care about. Now STAY." Releasing a final growl of exasperation, Vegeta left the room, slamming the door (and breaking the hinges) behind him.

Once he was sure Vegeta had left the building, Trunks crept into the bedroom where his mother sat on the comforter, blinking with shock. The two stared at the broken door in silence. To say the Saiyan Prince was definitely freaking out would have been, at that point, far too redundant.


	8. Chapter 8

Hey all! Thanks for all the positive feedback; keep it coming! If you like what you read, and are obsessed with B/V (like me and basically everyone, even if they don't know it,) check out some of my other stories! XOXO

Disclaimer: Don't own!

VIII.

Relaxing Sentimental

"Ok, now hand meee…that one!" Bulma, clad in her maternity yoga-pants and an exceptionally large Capsle Corps sweatshirt, pointed to one of the dozens of folders spread across her bed.

"Sure thing!" her son replied, grabbing the folder enthusiastically and handing it to her.

Appeasing the forceful request of her husband, Bulma had decided it was best that she finally abide by her doctor's bed rest orders. After all, she had discovered she could actually do a considerable amount of work from the comforts of her king sized mattress, especially after enlisting the help of a grateful-to-have-a-day-off-from-training Trunks. The two had spent the morning going through paperwork, Bulma lending an educational explanation at each turn; it was her hope that Trunks would someday take her job as the head of Capsule Corps.

"Thank you!" Bulma said with a smile, resting the folder on her large stomach as she opened it. "So in this contract-" she began, but was cut short by the unnecessarily loud entrance of her fuming husband. The pastel haired pair looked at the Saiyan, expressions just bidding him to protest.

"What is going on here?" Vegeta demanded, eyeing the scene with suspicion and annoyance. "Trunks, you are late for our training."

Trunks opened his mouth to protest, but Bulma took the rebuttal upon herself. "Trunks is helping me with work this morning," she said firmly.

The Saiyan Prince's eye twitched. "I thought it was understood that there was to be no more work," he stated forebodingly.

"Nu-uh, no sir! It was _understood_ that I would stay in bed. I am _in_ the bed. Besides, Trunks needs to learn how to do this stuff anyway! He'll be the boss of Capsule Corps someday!" Bulma said proudly, putting a triumphant fist in the air, then high-fiving her son.

Vegeta rolled his eyes. "Fine," he muttered, crossing his arms.

Bulma waited for her mate to return to his training, but he instead leaned against the bedroom wall, which was as much of a "staying a while" position as her husband ever demonstrated. She briefly smiled to herself, noting that he was choosing to spend some time with them during his training hours.

"So, when I'm the boss, do I get to tell my sister what to do?" Trunks asked with a mischievous grin, gently poking his mother's belly.

"Absolutely not!" the scientist replied forcefully, "Capsule Corps will belong to both of you, so you better start practicing your sharing ASAP." She smiled at her son and poked his nose in return.

"I know, I know, don't worry Mom," the boy answered. "I'm gonna be the best big brother _ever._ Way better than Gohan!"

Bulma ignored her husband's proud smirk at this remark. "Glad to hear it," she said, still beaming. She had no idea how, but she and Vegeta, the two most stubborn, hot-headed beings on planet Earth, had managed to raise a pretty great kid. She hoped they would be as successful in this second go around. "She'll need the best big brother! If she looks anything like me, you're going to have a lot of boys to chase off," she added with a wink.

Vegeta's mouth tightened. "Vulgar woman," he muttered, cheeks reddening, "why would you say such a thing?"

"Well it's true!" the scientist insisted, tossing her hair. "Don't be so sensitive, Vegeta, I'm sure it'll happen! I was just a girl when Yamcha and I dated, really, so she'll have boys around in no time at all! And you can't kill any of them, either, so you're going to have to relax."

"Because THAT is very _relaxing_ information!" the Saiyan Prince shot, eye now twitching uncontrollably.

"Really Mom, gross," Trunks agreed, although he sniggered at his father's reaction.

Bulma laughed too, then leaned back against her stack of pillows. "I'm just saying—you two live in a boy's world. Things'll be a little different with a girl running around. Prepare now," she teased, but she wasn't wrong. She hoped it would be a semi-easy transition (as easy as anything with Vegeta could be).

"I have faced the strongest warriors in the universe. I'm sure I can handle a little brat," Vegeta assured his wife, although she sensed the apprehension in his tone.

"Yeah, we can handle anything! We're Saiyans!" Trunks chimed, his enthusiasm a great juxtaposition to his father's uncertainty.

"I know you can," Bulma replied softly, her expression warm. As Trunks reached for another folder, she looked directly at her husband. It was true. Vegeta knew, as he met her gaze, she believed in him. She was the only one who always did.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I, of course, don't own any of these great characters. Don't forget to R&amp;R ;)

IX.

The Happening

Sipping on her tea, Bulma watched her husband as he completed his evening ritual. Fifteen minutes earlier, the Saiyan had strode through the bedroom and into the master bathroom, where he completed his nightly ten minute shower, emerging promptly with a towel around his waist. He then casually dropped the towel, exchanging it for a pair of pajama pants; although he had initially been resistant to the _silly_ Earth concept of pajamas, they had become one of the few human habits he had more than warmed to. Now, silently, he joined his wife in bed, his upper body elevated by the pillows, one hand absently massaging the bloodied knuckles of the other.

"Rough day at the office?" the beautiful scientist asked cheekily, grinning at her mate.

"Hn," Vegeta muttered in reply. He would be glad when this whole pregnancy ordeal was over; he was now officially out of working drones, and needed a healthy wife to see to their repair.

Bulma set her tea on the nightstand, releasing a tired sigh. "Let me see," she insisted, taking Vegeta's wounded hand into her own.

Although giving no verbal agreement, the Saiyan also offered no objections, nor pulled away, which Bulma had come to understand (after many years) as permission. She knew he would never admit such a thing, but she suspected that her partner found comfort, and even relief in her touch.

She thoroughly inspected his hand, carefully turning it over, delicately caressing each torn or bruised patch of skin. Of course, he didn't flinch—why would he? The physical pain he had endured in his lifetime far surpassed anything she could even imagine, she was sure. In fact, when trying to picture the event leading to any of his numerous scars, she herself was the one to cringe and shake with rage. She pushed the thoughts away, extra susceptible to them in her admittedly over-emotional state. Instead, the scientist studied the Saiyan's hand, admiring how large and masculine it was; she had always liked his hands. She leaned down and, one by one, kissed his knuckles.

At this, Vegeta rolled his eyes, but still made no protest. "Yes, I'm sure that's very effective," he drawled, looking at his mate skeptically.

"Well, I wouldn't call it conclusive," Bulma replied with a wink, "but I've yet to find a flaw in my methodology." She gave a quick laugh under her breath, but was cut short by a flutter in her stomach. "Hey, she's kicking! Packs a good one, gets that from _you_ no doubt," the scientist teased. She placed Vegeta's hand on her belly. "Wait for it, maybe she'll do it again!"

The Saiyan's cheeks reddened; this was actually the first time he had touched his wife's swollen stomach, and they both knew that. She had tricked him, undoubtedly. He had been avoiding this moment for numerous I-mustn't-show-any-sign-of-emotion-or-weakness reasons. But, now it was happening, and while he was indeed plagued by several nagging heart strings, he could not seem to pull himself away. Instead, he waited, intently and silently, for a second kick.

As if the unborn child could read his thoughts and, even more impressively, heed his commands, she kicked again, so forcefully that Bulma gave a small jump. "Ha! She did it again! She must be glad you're here," the blue-haired genius said with a smile, further settling into a rested position, dangerously close to a Saiyan-Prince-snuggle.

"Can they do that at this stage? Sense others?" Vegeta asked, eyebrow raised, hand still firmly in place on Bulma's bump.

Bulma opened her mouth to chastise her husband and insist he bother to learn one thing about babies before they had one, but stopped herself. "Well, human babies can't, but I honestly don't know about Saiyans. Maybe she can! She_ is_ the daughter of the Prince of All Saiyans, after all," she said with a smirk.

"Yes she is," Vegeta agreed, feeling a third kick from the babe. His face then became serious. "What are you going to call her?"

Bulma blinked. She had not been expecting the question from him, although she had given the answer considerable thought over the past few months. "Hmm…well, I was thinking Bra. What do you think?" She wasn't sure why she had bothered to ask; she knew he would hate it.

"I hate it," Vegeta replied with a grimace.

"Well, if _you_ want to give birth to her, by all means, name her whatever you want," the scientist retorted, crossing her arms.

The Saiyan growled. "Don't be ridiculous, woman," he shot. "All of this foolish fuss—birthing a child cannot possibly be worse than any wound I have received during battle."

"Oh, is that_ so_?" Bulma opened her mouth, ready to unleash a lip lashing of unimaginable heat, but paused, face paling.

Confused by the lack of verbal attack he had been expecting (and somewhat looking forward to; the release of a victorious argument was the only sort of release he could reach with his wife as of recently), Vegeta looked at the beautiful genius quizzically. "What?" he demanded.

"So…don't freak out…" Bulma said smoothly, although the edge in her voice could not be camouflaged.

"_Enough_ with this _freaking out_ idiocy! I have warned both _you_ and _your_ son about what I will do to the next person who says those irritating words! I am not _freaking out_, nor will I, at any point, _freak out, _you insufferable woman!" The Saiyan glared at his mate, eye twitching.

"Ok, good," the scientist replied with a deep breath. "Because it's happening."

Vegeta blinked. "What's happening?"

Bulma rolled her eyes. This was going to be interesting.


	10. Chapter 10

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Disclaimer: Nope to all ownership

X.

Six Minutes to Five

In an attempt to distract herself from the excruciating pain cycling once more through her body, Bulma gripped the hospital bed sheets and turned to study the alien beside her. It was funny how un-alien he now appeared; his white cotton shirt and blue slacks were devastatingly human. She was sure that if the Vegeta she had first met on Namek could see the Vegeta she now saw, he would laugh at him, insult him, and undoubtedly deck him good (probably in the nose). How strange they should be here together, that this once genocidal, ruthless, alien killer-ape prince sat beside her, unmistakable concern in his usually cold eyes, calculating the minutes between her contractions. It was like the cheesy ending to a bad sci-fi movie. She laughed to herself as she loosened her fists and the pain subsided. "Still six minutes?" she asked weakly.

The Saiyan furrowed his brow at her unusual laughter, but did not comment on it. This whole experience was bizarre, and quite frankly, he found that whenever he _did_ question something, it was met either with shouting, or a disgusting, discomforting answer. He nodded in response.

Bulma groaned. "This is taking _forever_," she complained, covering her eyes with her hands, then sliding them back through her hair.

"How long is it supposed to take?" Vegeta queried hesitantly, sure he wouldn't like the answer. They had already been at the hospital for seven hours, and his patience was growing thin with all of it. Aside from the sleep, and inevitably, training time he was going to lose, he was annoyingly concerned about how much longer his mate could sustain in her current state. Concern for his family, especially his weak human woman, was perhaps his least favorite of all feelings. In time, he had come to hate it even more than the embarrassment of being beaten…even being beaten by Kakarot.

The tired scientist shrugged, closing her eyes. "I just hope I'm past the half-way point," she replied.

"The _half-way_ point? We have been here _all night_!" Vegeta growled in disbelief. Everything about Earthlings was so unbelievably obsolete.

"Gee, _sorry_, big plans today in the gravity room _I built you_ _?_" Bulma retorted with a ferocity that surprised even the warrior prince. She then sharply exhaled, cried out and sat up, instinctively grabbing her husband's hand and squeezing it until her knuckles turned white.

Vegeta's jaw tightened, the scene prompting a lurch in the pit of his stomach. "You can't do_ this_ for another seven hours! There's no way!" he insisted once the contraction had passed.

Realizing that her husband's disquiet was more for her health than his missed training, her expression softened. "Mom's coming a little bit, alright?" she assured him breathily, taking her hand off of his and using it to wipe a bead of sweat from her forehead. "You can leave and train with Trunks until it's over. That oughtta keep your mind off of the freaking out you're not doing," she added with a wink.

"Leave you? Like this? With _your _mother? You cannot be serious," the Saiyan replied, almost insulted that she would even suggest it (even if that was exactly what he had done the first time).

Bulma smiled, despite herself. The big-bad-man was pretty adorable whilst freaking out, which she noticed he did not deny doing. "Hey, you don't have to prove anything to me, got it? I know this isn't your…element," she looked up at him, distantly acknowledging how their roles felt reversed; it was usually her bent over a sick bed with concern while he swatted her away and insisted her presence was not required. She paused, then added, "and it's only going to get worse before it gets better. Really, I'm going to be ok, but you will _hate_ everything that happens from here on out. Like _really _hate it, Vegeta."

Vegeta leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "Hn," was his only answer, but his body language was definitive—he was staying put.

"Suit yourself," the blue-haired genius replied with a smirk, just as another wave of pain rolled through her. "YOU MISERABLY FERTILE, FRIEND MURDERING MONKEY," she added post episode.

"Five minutes," the Saiyan Prince informed her, unfazed by the insult.


	11. Chapter 11

C'mon guys, I'm not that mean, I wouldn't leave ya with a cliff-hanger for too long ;) R&amp;R if you please!

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XI.

Absolutely No More Dying

It looked more painful than any torture Vegeta had ever experienced at the hands of Frieza. It dragged on longer than the _infinite _"one minute" Kakarot had needed to recharge before facing Majin Buu. It was, without a doubt, even more disgusting than worms. And it was happening to _his_ woman. Every fiber of his being wanted nothing more than to exit the room and return only after gouging out his eyes and/or his eardrums. However, every time his gaze would drift to the door, his mate would scream or bleed or go limp or any other of the horrible things he had witnessed thus far, and he knew he could not leave, not even for a moment. She had been right. He hated this. This was not his element. This was not it _at all_.

"Almost there!" the decidedly _worthless_ human doctor assured the room.

"You said that an _hour_ ago! What does that even _mean_ at this point!?" the Saiyan demanded, making a fist at the middle aged Earthling. Vegeta would have rounded on him and resorted to a more intense physical intimidation, but was prevented by 1) his wife's clenched fist, gripping the neckline of his t-shirt and 2) his immense desire to be absolutely as far away from the proverbial _battlefield _as possible.

"Don't yell at _him! _This is _your_ fault REMEMBER!?" the laboring Bulma shouted, her arm twisting and dragging the Prince closer to her still.

"SHUT UP you are wasting your energy you insufferable woman!" Vegeta snapped back, eye twitching. However, he closed a firm hand around her wrist, signifying that he was still with her.

"No, really, this is the end!" the doctor interjected with a nervous laugh. He had been warned about the alien father's temper; in fact, it was a large portion of the non-disclosure agreement he had been forced to sign before being hired as the heiress's private physician.

Vegeta growled, bloodlust at full-force. "Do _not_ say this-is-the-end when referring to my woman, you miserable earthling!"

Panting, Bulma looked at her husband, eyes serious and gaze intense. She grabbed his face with her free hand, turning it towards her to make sure that he was paying attention. "Hey buddy, listen up," she began, "If something happens,"

"_Shut up_, for once in your life just _listen _to my instructions and stop your blabbering," the Saiyan interjected, feeling the immense amount of energy it was taking her to verbalize. But, as per usual, Bulma would not be silenced.

"No _you_ listen to _me_," she growled, parroting his tone almost exactly, whether or not it was intentional. "_If_ something happens, you're it. You're all they've got. You have to stick around and teach them how to fight and how to think and you gotta be there. No more flying off and facing mortal danger to save the universe. Are you taking this in? And absolutely—ABSOLUTELY no more dying. I want to be clear about that. AND you have to love them—you don't have to say it—but you _have _to do it. Got it? GOT IT?" Tears began to fill the brim of her large blue eyes.

"No way, don't you_ die_ on me woman! I will not tolerate any more such talk! I cannot-" The Saiyan paused. Her requests were reasonable, he had to admit. Of course he would do those things. At least he would attempt to, to the best of his admittedly limited skill-set as a father, anyway. He then made a fist, looked at her with determination, and nodded in agreement. "Now, don't give up, you're no quitter." He winced. If it weren't for his harsh and commanding tone, he would have sounded like Kakarot offering a pep-talk. How annoying.

The scientist in turn nodded and made her own agreement, then screamed in such a manner that Vegeta was quite sure took care of the eardrum gouging he had contemplated earlier. The room then fell silent for a further deafening moment, but became alive again with the sound of infant cries.

"Actually, I think I'll be fine," Bulma breathed in hindsight, collapsing onto her pillow, chest heaving. "Wow,that got dramatic! Let me see her!"

Vegeta blinked. "You're _fine?_ You're _FINE? _Are you _kidding_!? After all of _that? _Unacceptable!" he growled, throwing his hands in the air then crossing his arms. Although beyond embarrassed by the sentimental, now _pointless_ display, he was, however, deeply relieved. Especially when the doctor handed up the screeching babe, still covered in blood and Kame knew what else, and he could step out of the way and let his mate take it.

"Ohhh, look at how beautiful!" the new mother cooed, holding the child against her chest, which seemed to silence the cries and lull the infant to sleep. "Little baby _Bra_."

The Saiyan gave a grimace at the utterance, but said nothing. After the past twelve hours, he decided it was, admittedly, appropriate that the woman name the brat whatever she wanted.

As the doctor stitched and bandaged the exhausted Bulma (Vegeta careful to avoid any and all visuals of this,) the Brief trio sat in silent contemplation. Once he had gone, Bulma opened an eye, returning to her study of the proud alien warrior whose second child she now cradled. "Hey, Vegeta," she said softly, eyes returning to their full close.

"Hn?"

"Pretty freaked out at the end there, huh?" she gave a mischievous grin then dozed off, joining her daughter in slumber.

Vegeta rolled his eyes, but noted, with an emotion he had not yet identified, that the child shared its mother's hair color, and sported a fine tail.


	12. Chapter 12

Sorry this update took so long! I've been very busy recently and had some _miserable_ writer's block. I have the next few chapters planned, but I needed some fluff-spiration for this one :) Anyway, thanks so much for all of the reviews and follows! It means so much!

Disclaimer: -Nope to ownership of characters-

XII.

Water

"She looks _just_ like you!" Chi Chi exclaimed, waving a playful finger in front of the newborn's face. "Now that the tail's gone, you would never know she's half Vegeta. I'd have just assumed you cloned yourself or made an android or something." The dark haired woman chuckled at her own joke and settled into her seat at the Brief kitchen table.

"Well, it's only fair, Trunks would be _his majesty's_ twin if he had black hair and misses his next growth spurt," Bulma quipped with a grin, absently bouncing her baby. She was quite pleased that Bra's appearance so much resembled her own; Vegeta, however, seemed less pleased with this outcome, as he knew how beautiful Bulma was considered on Earth, and how, in turn, she received a large amount of attention from males of the human (and occasionally, Kai) species.

Chuckling, Chi Chi shook her head. "And he really stayed for the whole thing?"

"The _whole_ thing," Bulma assured her friend, "I couldn't believe it either. At one point, I even told him he should leave, but he wouldn't." She smiled, remembering how concerned her husband had looked. "And," the scientist lowered her voice and leaned in, beckoning her friend to do the same, "I catch him checking on us all the time. In the next five minutes he'll breeze through for more w_ater_. We've been living together for almost twenty years and I can count the number of times he's stopped training for _water_, before a week ago, on one hand."

As if on cue, and much to the delight of the seated women, the Saiyan Prince came charging through the kitchen door, lilac-haired heir in tow.

"Need something?" Bulma asked cheekily, eyes mischievous and grin stretched wide at the barely sweaty pair.

"We require hydration. Our training is immensely rigorous," Vegeta replied, avoiding his wife's gaze, but catching sight of the infant from the corner of his eye.

"Oh, immensely, for sure," the scientist affirmed, sarcasm barely audible. She shot Chi-Chi an I-told-you-so look, and the pair stifled their giggles.

Acutely aware that he was the center of their annoying amusement, Vegeta turned and glared at the women. "And what is so funny?" he demanded, eyes narrowed and arms crossed.

"Nothing honey-bun, the baby just did something _so_ cute. You must have missed it," Bulma answered innocently, shrugging.

Snarling at both terms of endearment, the Saiyan rolled his eyes. "She is not _cute_. She is a _warrior_. Do not degrade the royal line with your sniveling Earth sentiment," he snapped. However, his eyes moved to the child in a manner which suggested to Bulma he was hopeful Bra would do again whatever made-up cute thing he was lead to believe she had just done.

"Aw, come on Dad, she's pretty cute," Trunks argued, enthusiastically lifting his sister from Bulma's arms and making an assortment of amuse-the-baby faces.

"_Careful,_" Vegeta growled, ears reddening and face paling at the casualness with which his son handled the babe. This, of course, earned a second visual exchange and smirk between the women.

"He's fine!" Bulma assured her anxious mate, placing a hand on his instinctively clenched fist.

Ears reddening further, Vegeta huffed and turned towards the door. "Whatever. I have more important things to do than waste my time with this infant nonsense," he stated as he made his exit.

"Wait, Vegeta," Bulma called, prompting the Prince to halt in the doorway. "You forgot your water!"

Cursing, Vegeta stomped from premises as everyone in the kitchen laughed.


	13. Chapter 13

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Disclaimer: Don't own these guys and gals!

XIII.

Smiling

"Alright, that's it, I'm exhausted. Twenty minutes—that's all I'm asking. When—and I do say _when_—Bra starts crying in the next twenty minutes, you have to deal with it. I just changed her and you don't have to feed her, Kame forbid you do any _real_ work, after all. Just hold her or bounce her or _look_ at her for all I care. Hell, fly around with her. I know I said not to, but I'm taking it back. I'm taking it all back. I don't care. I _don't_ care. Go find the dragon balls. Resurrect Frieza and fight him together. Teach her about the birds and the bees and the androids and why she wouldn't exist if it weren't for my superior intellect and her brave brother's willingness to time travel and save your good for nothing life. Sorry, that was mean. I love you. But I need twenty minutes and if I can't have them, I _will_ kill you." Bulma, the intensity of her eyes only accentuated by the bags under them, broke the gaze she accosted her unsuspecting husband with as she flopped on to the living room couch, throwing an arm over her eyes.

Raising an eyebrow, the Saiyan placed his sports drink on the coffee table and crossed his arms. "Fine," he replied tersely, inspecting his mate's disheveled form. She was, by all accounts, disgusting; her two-day old lounge leggings and sweater were splattered with stains, and her hair was neither clean nor brushed. In fact, if it had not been months since their last sexual encounter, Vegeta would have been slightly repulsed by her appearance. However, her missed shower and twice-warn clothes now only served in strengthening her alluring aroma, and her tired body, stretched beckoningly across the sofa, seemed to call his name (or, at the very least, his manhood).

The scientist lifted her arm from her eyes, catching sight of the way the Saiyan Prince eyed her. "Don't even think about it._ Even_ if I had the OK from the doctor, which I don't, I wouldn't risk making another one of those hybrid life suckers. Not today. I'm so exhausted that, even when I look at you in those tight little shorts and muscle tank, I feel nothing, and see only a short, bad-tempered, exceedingly long grocery list."

"I see this exhaustion does not extend to your tongue," Vegeta growled, rolling his eyes.

"That had better not be any part of a blow job innuendo," Bulma warned, teeth gritted.

The Saiyan's cheeks reddened, but as he opened his mouth to label the new mother a "vulgar woman," infant cries began to echo from the second floor of the house.

"YOU GO. Twenty minutes!" shot Bulma as she rolled over and covered her head with a throw pillow.

Grumbling, Vegeta turned and headed to the source of the crying, the physical craving for his mate effectively diminished. He strode through the nursery door and to the crib, eyeing his screaming child, his head beginning to throb at the sound of her piercing shrieks. "Shut up," he muttered, waving a hand in front of her face, as if to ward off an invisible assailant.

Almost immediately, Bra stopped crying. She looked at Vegeta's hand, then his face, big blue eyes full of wonder and interest. This caught the full-blooded Saiyan by surprise. "There, see, no reason to carry on," he said, leaning on the crib wall and studying the infant. She smiled at the sound of his voice, then began to laugh and gurgle, little hands extended towards her father.

Vegeta, as a personal preference, held Bra as little as possible. In fact, since her birth five weeks before, the Saiyan Prince had held her only six times: four because Bulma had momentarily handed her off, needing the temporary use of both hands, and two more because Bulma's mother had done the same. While he had promised himself he would not make the same mistakes with Bra that he had made with Trunks, and failure to hold Trunks _ever_ was pretty high on his mistake list, cradling his new baby terrified the warrior. He wasn't sure if holding her heightened his awareness of how fragile she truly was, or if he was just paranoid of accidentally crushing her. Either way, he didn't like it, and being scared was not a feeling Vegeta had experienced enough to properly cope with.

However, as Bra smiled at and reached for him now, he felt he had no choice. He sighed and scooped her up with one arm, moving the index finger of his free hand back and forth in front of her face, fascinated by the focus with which her eyes followed it.

"She just started doing that a few days ago," Bulma said softly from the door, watching the pair.

"Doing what?" Vegeta asked, too transfixed by his infant to be embarrassed by Bulma's spying.

"Smiling," the scientist replied. "Give her another week and she'll be zooming around and blowing up planets, just like her father."

At this, Vegeta smirked. "I have little doubt."


	14. Chapter 14

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XIV.

Challenge

Breaking for a much needed lunch, Vegeta entered the eerily quiet house he had begrudgingly taken to calling "home." He cracked open the refrigerator, as per his usual ritual, and inspected the contents to find nourishment that met his specifications. Distantly, he wondered where the rest of the house occupants were. He did not make it his business to concern himself with the daily schedules of his family members, but he did, for practical reasons, like to have a general knowledge of their whereabouts in proximity to himself. Growing more curious as he disqualified one food item after another, he casually felt around for the ki of his humans and offspring; he sensed only one level, which he assigned to either his mate or her mother. Closing the refrigerator door, the Saiyan pinpointed the location of the ki and approached it. He found, much to his preference (usually,) his wife, sitting cross-legged on the couch and flipping through a magazine. She looked up when she felt him enter and grinned. "Hey," she said cooly, eyes then returning to her reading material.

Suspicious, Vegeta carefully surveyed the room. "Where are the children?" he asked, noting the almost deafening quiet which surrounded them—an uncommon occurrence in the past few months.

"With my parents," Bulma replied, turning a page, "for the _whole_ afternoon."

Now, the Saiyan Prince was very suspicious. His mate had some sort of scheme, which, although not uncommon, was something he had learned to always be wary of. "Why?" he prodded, temperament as even as he could muster, eyes narrowed.

Grin stretching, Bulma gave a sigh. "Well, you were training, and I needed someone to watch the baby while I went to my doctor appointment," she explained, voice sing-song.

Suddenly, it was all clear. Today was the doctor appointment. _The_ doctor appointment. When this date, coupled with an explanation of its significance, had been set six weeks ago, it was very much on Vegeta's radar. However, with the chaos of the newborn and his everlasting desire to seem aloof, he had actually forgotten this _very_ important appointment.

Watching the Saiyan's expression as he began to put the pieces together, the scientist chuckled to herself. "Aren't you going to ask me how it went?" she drawled, setting the magazine beside her and giving a long, bored-looking stretch.

As she stretched, Vegeta took in her appearance, wondering how he was just now noticing it. Her tight jeans and black crop top, as well as all visible skin, were not covered in infant stains, but instead seemed neat and clean. She was also sporting a new fragrance—similar to, but not exactly the same as the last one he had admitted to liking. Normally he would have reminded her that his sense of smell was far superior to her human sense, and she was foolish to think he would not be able to tell the difference between the original scent and a replacement. But today was not a _normal_ day. His muscles tightened, a warrior's instinctive and biological response whenever faced with a situation in which action may be taken.

"Well?" Bulma rose an eyebrow, waiting for his response. She wanted him to want it. No, she wanted him to _show_ her that he wanted it. But, he was not so easily manipulated by her and her_ woman_ tactics.

"Well, get on with it. Can you or can't you?" He snapped, eye twitching in annoyance and anticipation. He wasn't going to beg, after all. He had his daily training to complete. He had other _things_ he could do (at least, that's what he would tell her if her arrogance became too insufferable).

Exasperated, the blue-haired genius growled and dropped her hands to her side. "Come on, you can't play along even a _little_? I'm trying to be _sexy_ here, some freaking support wouldn't kill ya. Do you know anyone else who could pull off a crop top after kiddo number two? Because I sure don't. Any other guy on Earth would be trading their souls or wishing on the dragon balls for a chance with _this. _And you got it, buddy. At least you _did_. Doc says I'm right as rain!"

Vegeta looked at her blankly.

In turn, Bulma rolled her eyes. "Sorry. That's 'I-Can' in Vegeta speak," she retorted, crossing her arms and assuming the defensive position in her seat.

However, before she could protest, the Saiyan had hoisted her into his arms. "No earth man could ever be worthy of you," he assured his mate, annoyed with how desperately he wanted, no—_needed_ her. Although his tone was much more because-you-belong-to-the-prince-of-a-superior-race than because-you-are-the-best-woman-in-the-universe, the genius shrugged and decided she could count the comment as _good enough_.

"That's more like it," she replied, threading her fingers through his hair and kissing him intensely. "Now move it, homeboy, we have like four months to cover in four hours."

"That sounds like a challenge," the Saiyan countered darkly, tossing her back on to the couch. There was, decidedly, no time to waste. Vegeta, Prince of All Saiyans, _never_ backed down from a challenge.


	15. Chapter 15

R&amp;R pretty please ! I really appreciate everyone who has taken the time to do so!

Disclaimer: yadiyadiyadontownthecharactersyadiyadiya

XV.

Sleep

The sound of her alarm roused the sleeping genius, who moaned and begrudgingly clicked the clock off. She sat up, stretched and rubbed her eyes, then glanced down at her empty bed. It was not unusual for her husband to be gone before she awoke; in fact, Vegeta was _rarely_ in the room when her alarm went off, his daily training beginning before dawn each day. What was unusual, however, was that this was the first time she had been awoken since getting in the bed early last night. Vegeta, with his complete lack of tact or sensitivity, always made a racket when preparing for his day at 5 in the a.m. He would, for example, forcefully sit on the bed when tying his shoes, slam drawers (although this was usually credited to his super-human strength), curse under his breath if the weather was unsatisfactory, and curse_ loudly_ if Bulma had not washed his favored shorts. However, there had been no such disturbances this morning. Stranger still was that Bra, a fairly fussy baby, had not cried for her mother through the duration of the night. Uneased by this realization, Bulma pulled on her robe and crept to the nursery.

In her crib, the infant dozed, tiny fists curled in front of her; the image was serenely picturesque. Lying on the couch across from the crib (also picture worthy) was a sleeping Saiyan. Grinning, her heart beyond melted, Bulma studied her snoozing husband. Vegeta's left arm rested across his white t-shirted torso, while the right acted as a pillow, sandwiched between his head and the arm rest.

It was not often that the scientist saw her mate sleep. On average, he slept much less than her, sharing her bed time only to share evening intimacies, rising before her every day, and rarely being one for naps. There were of course the times she would roll over to him sweating, tossing and turning, indicating a nightmare of great severity. She hated these times—she preferred him knocked unconscious (perhaps the most common of resting states) than in his tormented dream world. When he awoke from unconsciousness, he always seemed to feel validated, like he had truly gone beyond a personal limit; when waking from a nightmare, he would appear embarrassed, and never wished to discuss it, despite Bulma's constant prying. Now, however, he looked neither plagued, nor concussed…just asleep. Peacefully, asleep.

As if his senses were so keen that he knew, even in slumber, that his wife was thinking about him, the Saiyan stirred and opened an eye. He blinked, orienting to his surroundings, then sat up stiffly, rubbing his neck. "What are you looking at?" he muttered, crossing his arms and turning his gaze to the wall.

"You," Bulma answered truthfully, voice hushed as not to wake the baby. She sat down beside Vegeta, curling her legs under her and resting her head on his shoulder. "Did you stay up with her all night?" she inquired, surprised by the idea.

Vegeta nodded, the tips of his ears tinting red. "You did not wake when she cried," he informed his wife. "You usually do. I knew your body must require more rest. I saw to it."

The scientist blinked. "Wow, I guess so." She was so stunned by both his consideration of her well-being, and willingness to tend to their infant that she struggled with what to say to the Saiyan. "Thanks," she settled on finally, smiling and placing a hand on his arm.

Vegeta nodded a second time, his closest swing at "you're welcome."

The pair sat in silence for several moments, eyes fixed on the crib and the sleeping child inside of it. Bulma thought again about how peaceful her husband had looked, and how different and wonderful it was to see it. "Hey, Vegeta?" She said softly,

"Hn?" The Saiyan responded reluctantly, sensing that the woman was about to be sentimental.

"You're a good father," Bulma said simply, squeezing his arm. As long as he was around, Bra would never grow up to have the nightmares he suffered every night. She would never have the physical scars that he bore, nor the heart-hole left by a cruel upbringing and dark life. Bra would be safe. Trunks would be safe. They would all be safe, always, because he would make _damn_ sure of it. And he was a force—no, _the_ force, to be reckoned with.

Vegeta snorted, but Bulma could tell the affirmation was understood and appreciated. "Just wanted to let you know" she added, kissing him on the cheek and standing up.

"Where are you going?" The Saiyan asked, eyeing his mate, her bathrobe loose and threatening to come undone.

"Work," the scientist replied, adjusting her robe and pulling the draw tight. "Can't take off forever, this whole company would go up in flames. Mom's gonna watch Bra, so you and Trunks can train whenever. Just make yourself useful if she needs..."

Bulma trailed off as Vegeta stood, coming dangerously close to her. "I do not think you should go back to work yet," he breathed, almost menacingly. His hand coiled around the tie of her bathrobe and pulled it loose once more.

"Well, maybe I could go in late…" she leaned in, her arms slinking around his strong shoulders, lips brushing his.

However, as Vegeta grabbed his mate and moved for the door, the baby began to scream. Eye twitching, the Saiyan released his hold on Bulma. "Your turn," he stated, then headed to the kitchen to find himself breakfast.


	16. Chapter 16

Just some fluff, but a little tid bit I've always wondered about ;) R&amp;R if you please! I really appreciate all the great feedback you guys and gals leave!

Disclaimer: don't own these crazy kids!

XVI.

Stay

"Shhh, you'll wake them up!" Bulma whispered to her alien husband as he casually stomped through the master bedroom door, searching for his purple-headed firstborn, who had not returned to the gravity room after his water break.

Wincing, Vegeta noted the horrifyingly sentimental scene. His mate sat in bed, cradling a sleeping Bra in her arms; Trunks, still sporting his training clothes, lay sleeping next to his mother, spooning a half-empty water bottle. "And what _exactly_ is going on here?" the Saiyan queried.

Bulma shrugged. "Trunks came in to say hi and we just got to talking. He was out like a light after a minute. You must be going too hard on him," she replied, grinning at her husband.

Rolling his eyes, Vegeta turned to leave and finish his training alone. However, he was halted by his wife's sincere plea. "Sit with me," she beckoned, jerking her head to a free corner of the large bed. "Please?" Her eyes were so wide and expression so soft that the Saiyan knew he could not deny her request; she was clearly not in a defy-me-and-I-will-shout-at-you mood, but a show-me-you-care-or-I-will-cry state. The latter was far worse than the first.

With his second eye roll in under two minutes, the Saiyan Prince huffed and perched himself on the bed corner, eyeing his resting family. They were completely insufferable, but undeniably a handsome looking group. Trunks seemed to have grown a foot taller in just the past week-Bulma called it a "growth spurt." Apparently it was a natural part of the human maturation process. He would have pumped the woman for more information of this biological sort, but it was no sooner than she explained the phrase that she had moved to mocking him and suggesting a lack of growth spurt was responsible for his own height.

"You know what I've been thinking about?" Bulma's voice broke the Saiyan's thoughts.

"Hn?" Vegeta leaned back against the bed post and crossed his arms.

"Well," the scientist began, and her husband knew he had made a mistake in inviting her to continue. She was about to prattle off some long train of nonsense, then get angry with him when he did not actively demonstrate that he was both following _and_ in agreement with her. It was one of his least favorite of their shared activities. "You know how you stayed on Earth to train and beat the androids? And that's how we—well, you know," Bulma said, eyes flashing to Trunks.

Vegeta's cheeks reddened and he scoffed. "Where are you going with this?" he demanded, already uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was taking.

"Geeze, give me a second!" Bulma shot, glaring at the Saiyan. "_Anyway_, I was just thinking…in the timeline that Big Trunks came from, no one knew about the androids, right?"

"So?" Vegeta countered warily.

"So, why did you stay? In that timeline, I mean?" the blue-haired genius delicately shifted the matching blue-haired baby in her arms. "You wouldn't have cared about training to beat the androids because you wouldn't have known they were coming."

The Saiyan blinked, caught off guard. He had never thought about it before. Not that there was reason to—he was dead in that timeline, beaten by those _obnoxious_ toaster twins. It was worse than irrelevant; it was _embarrassing_. "I must have stayed to learn how Kakarot became a Super Saiyan," he replied, decidedly. "That was my initial reason for staying on Earth, even before the boy came from the future."

"Well, sure, that makes sense," Bulma agreed, face thoughtful. "But…you didn't just stay to ask him about being a Super Saiyan. Knowing you, that's the first thing you did when he came back to Earth after his fight with Frieza," she grinned and stifled a chuckle, imagining the probable grumpy exchange between the two in the alternate timeline. "Anyway," she shook her head, pushing the image away, "you didn't fly off and never come back after you asked Goku about the Super Saiyan thing. You stayed on Earth. You stayed here and we made Trunks, and then you _still _stayed, even after he was born. You stayed until the androids attacked, and you died fighting them. You died _protecting_ us."

Although there were several cringe-worthy moments in his mate's speech, "Super Saiyn _thing_" and the "making" of Trunks being two of the primary offenses, the Saiyan found himself to be surprisingly most uncomfortable with the fact that Bulma was, more than likely, correct. He was certain he stayed on Earth, in the beginning, to learn how Kakarot had achieved the legendary form. He could also reason himself into assuming he had stayed longer than intended because Capsule Corp. was comfortable, and the training accommodations were excellent. But, why would he stay on the miserable planet for more than three years? She was right. There was no logical answer.

"Perhaps I wished to best Kakarot before I left," he said finally, thinking that could, _logically_, be what happened.

"Yeah, I guess so," Bulma said quietly, although it was clear by her tone she was not in agreement with this theory. She stroked one of Bra's blue curls, eyeing the babe with immeasurable fondness. "Or maybe," she began, voice becoming softer still, "you were always meant for us. That the other, _alternate_ you just figured it out way before _you_ you did." She winked at her husband, that overwhelming fondness she showered on their infant transferring easily to the gaze she placed on him. This made him uncomfortable; he couldn't help but feel unworthy of such adoration, even after so many years. He was a monster; he could not even give an estimate on the number of beings who had died at his hands. Yet, to her, he was loveable—the same way her childhood friends, parents and pets were. It made no sense.

"Well, anyway, I guess we'll never know, since you went and got your butt killed by the androids! It's just something I was thinking about, anyway. Doesn't matter! " Bulma stuck her tongue out at the Saiyan, who growled and narrowed his eyes at her in return.

"Yes, that's _very_ funny," he shot, loud enough that Trunks stirred awake. Vegeta grabbed his unsuspecting son by the collar of his shirt and dragged him towards the door, muttering all the while about how he _personally_ had not been killed by _any_ machinery, and it was not correct to make such a comparison.


	17. Chapter 17

R&amp;R if you please :)

Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ or these character, who are about to engage in shenanigans.

XVII.

Desire

Tip-toeing from the nursery, where a _finally_ sleeping Bra laid in her crib, Bulma crept into her bedroom and slid open her nightstand drawer. There, like a beautiful beacon of shining, immeasurable ecstasy, rested a brand-new pack of cigarettes. The sight was almost more than she could stand; she let slip a gasp of joy as she grabbed the laminated box and began to unwrap it with shaking fingers. As she pulled one of the slender, white sticks free, she could feel her heart begin to race. She carefully tucked the single cigarette into her breast pocket, grabbed her lighter, and closed the newly opened pack back in the drawer. "Hello, old friend," she whispered as she walked on to the balcony, taking she cigarette from her pocket and placing it between her lips. She flicked on her lighter, shielding the flame from the gentle breeze, and inhaled deeply.

"What are you doing?" The gruff voice caught the scientist by surprise and she choked on the smoke.

"Erm—nothing! What are you doing? Where did you come from?" Bulma demanded, tossing her cigarette over the balcony railing as she wheezed and tried to catch her breath.

"I was training when I smelled the foul odor of those horrible Earth things," the Saiyan informed his mate, crossing his arms.

Bulma rolled her eyes and dramatically shrugged her shoulders, giving her best performance of innocence. "Horrible-earth-things could literally mean _anything_ to you, Vegeta. Just today that's what you called the coffee pot, my magazines and throw pillows!" she countered.

"You _know_ what I mean!" Vegeta growled, eye twitching. "I told you I did _not_ want you to use those things anymore. They are bad for you, and they smell disgusting."

At this, the blue haired vixen narrowed her eyes. "Listen here, pal, you can't tell me what to do. I stayed good and clean every second I carried _your_ daughter, but the cat is _out_ of this bag, and I deserve a cigarette. In fact, I deserve _several_!" She put her hands on her hips and leaned her face close to his—a familiar offensive position. She had forgotten how good his stupid, Saiyan sense of smell was.

"That is not the point. You will cause yourself harm and it is unacceptable." Vegeta countered her stance, leaning even closer towards her. This was one of her usual tactics; the closer they came to one another physically, the more likely it was that the argument would be dropped and they would become heatedly intimate. She was counting on this, he knew, but he was not going to let her get off that easy (in either sense of the word).

"Good point, honey! I'll tell you what! I'll quit smoking as soon as _you_ stop breaking bones, dislocating joints and rendering yourself _unconscious_. Fair?" She pressed her forehead against his, gaze intense, words punctuated by the force with which she pushed them through her gritted teeth.

The Saiayn backed away from her and made a fist. "That is _hardly_ the same!"

"You're right! What you do to yourself every other day is _way_ worse than a lousy cigarette every now and then!" Bulma insisted, tossing her hair. "Now, unless you intend to stop beating yourself up in the gravity room on the regular, hustle on back to it so I can light up _in peace_."

"I train so that I can remain strong enough to protect you, our children, and this miserable planet. For what greater good are you filling your lungs with tar?" Vegeta spat, glaring at his insufferable mate.

Bulma blinked. "Did you _research_ this?" she asked, finding his use of the word "tar" oddly specific.

His ears tinting red, the Saiyan turned away. "Fine, you want to make yourself ill, be my guest. It's none of my concern," he growled.

Despite herself, the scientist smiled, and she wrapped her arms around her husband's torso, leaning her head against his strong back. "I'll cut back, alright? Promise!" she said, nuzzling him slightly.

The crimson of his ears darkening, Vegeta gave a "hn," and shrugged himself out from under his wife's embrace. "Shouldn't you be checking on the infant?" he stated, changing the subject in his typical, non-casual and completely obvious way.

"She's asleep," Bulma informed him, re-initiating her embrace, this time from the front. "Do they really make me smell _that_ disgusting?" she drawled, voice like honey, lips brushing his ear.

"Yes," Vegeta assured her, the scent from even one puff unmistakable to him. Yet, beneath the stench of the cigarette was the sweet aroma of his mate, and he allowed himself to give into it, his nose traveling her neck and finding haven in her hair.

"Wow, big tough guy with a super powered smeller," the scientist teased, her voice oozing with so much seduction that her husband could not even hear the sarcastic note. He kissed her passionately, groping hands tearing her shirt (literally) away.

"You are an insufferable distraction," he informed her, tone oddly serious for the intensity and intimacy with which he touched her.

"And you are an insufferable outfit murderer. I liked that shirt," she said, although her words were barely audible through the frequency with which her lips were pressed against him. As they found their way to the bed, and she pulled him on top of her, she imagined how good a cigarette was going to be after _this. _


	18. Chapter 18

R&amp;R if you please! I love reading your reviews soooo much!

First time writing a little Goku!

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, of course.

XVIII.

A Day in the Life

Barely able to follow the blurs and grunts zooming across the main yard, Trunks gave a long and dejected sigh. He _hated_ when Goku came over to train sans Goten; it would always start on the hopeful we'll-take-turns note, but inevitably devolve into the two full Saiyans heatedly sparring at a level of power, skill, and competition so great, Trunks could not even humor the idea of joining. It was _beyond_ annoying.

"Those two at it again, huh?" Bulma mused, bouncing the hybrid infant in her arms.

"As usual," Trunks groaned, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms.

Bulma winced at how Vegeta-esque the motion was. "Sorry kiddo, I know that's no fun for you. Where's Goten?"

"Helping his mom around the house," the lilac-haired boy replied, his words dragged out as if the idea of household chores was the most ridiculous concept he had ever encountered. "It's so unfair. We're warriors, not _maids_. Cleaning is for girls." He made a fist, envisioning all of the potential fun they could be having, if not for Chi-Chi's irrational demands.

The scientist snorted at her son. "Ok, one more word and I'm going to have to run some tests on you, just to rule out the possibility that you are actually _transforming_ into your father," she teased, shifting the weight of her baby to one arm and ruffling Trunk's hair with her free hand. "Just because _he_ does nothing around the house doesn't mean the entire male-Saiyan-population shouldn't. Really, as fast as you boys all move, it should take you _half_ the time of us human women to do a load of dishes and fold some laundry." She paused, stroking her chin. "You know, I bet if you flew over to Goten's house and helped him out, he'd be done with all those chores in no time! Then you two would have all afternoon to punch each other and share a body or whatever you do."

Trunks furrowed his brow, contemplating the suggestion, then shrugged and nodded. "I guess it's better than sitting around doing nothing," he agreed. "Is it cool if I fly over by myself?"

"Sure. Just don't—well, I don't know, blow anything up, I guess," Bulma replied with a smirk. She wondered what it would be like to be a normal mom, one who warned her children against strangers and oncoming traffic and the sort. Truthfully, if anything ever posed a threat to Trunks, it would be less of a stranger-danger issue, and much more of an apocalypse situation…which, of course, would not be the first her family had encountered and survived (technically).

The half-Saiyan gave his mother a thumbs up before shooting into the air and disappearing in a flash of light. Giving a smile to the lingering gleam in the sky, Bulma turned and entered the house. "Shoulda made him help _me_ with _our _laundry, first," she muttered to herself, staring with detest at the basket of fresh-from-the-line spandex shorts and other assorted active-wear. Before she could begin folding, however, the babe in her arms began to sob loudly. "Woah, hey, what's wrong?" the scientist cooed, holding the child up and examining her. As a mother, Bulma could easily recognize Bra's usual fits and tears: "hungry," "tired," and "need to be changed," all had very distinct and identifiable sounds. This, however, was alien. "Bra sweety, what is it?"

As she fruitlessly questioned the infant, Bulma heard the front door slam, accompanied by a mixture of gruff and good-hearted chatter. "Now what," she said to herself, rolling her eyes; she knew the pair only ever stopped training before dark if there was a _situation._ With a to-do list the size of Shenron and a screaming baby, the scientist did not have time for a Saiyan _situation_. Continuing to rock and whisper soothing words to Bra, she reluctantly went towards the voices.

"Oh, hey Bulma! Sorry to bother you, but—aw, look at her! She's already grown since the last time I saw her! They grow up so fast. What's wrong, little one?" Goku chimed, bending down to eye-level with the blue-haired infant, whose cries only intensified at the sight of the friendly Saiyan.

Bulma, however, completely ignored Goku's comments, her attention occupied by the bloody mess all over her floor and husband. "_GOKU_ what did you DO?" She demanded, rounding on her old friend, teeth clenched and face an angry crimson.

"Wha—oh, yeah! Sorry, it was an accident, we were sparring and I guess my boot got him," Goku replied with a nervous smile, rubbing the back of his head.

"Yeah, I'll say, he's bleeding all over my house," the scientist huffed, eyes transitioning seamlessly from anger to sympathy as they moved to the injured Saiyan, who held a firm hand over the large gash on his opposite forearm. "Are you ok? Come on, I'll walk you to the infirmary." Although projected over the volume of their bawling child, Bulma's tone rang tender and compassionate.

Vegeta glared at his sparring partner, his expression registering only annoyance and not an ounce of pain. "I do not require anything from the infirmary, only something to cover this annoying wound so that we may continue," he spat, gaze moving to his mate.

"Fine, it's your blood—which _you_ will be cleaning up, by the way," the heiress said stiffly, tone and posture losing any essence of sympathy it previously held. "Here, take her, I'll get a bandage." She handed the howling Bra to Goku, who took her clumsily, and prompted yet again an increase in the babe's hysterics.

Paling, as he often did when it came to the questionable safety of his daughter, Vegeta snarled. "Do _not_ allow my offspring to be held by this _clown_!" He released his gushing laceration, wiped his hand on his shorts, and snatched the infant from Goku's arms, all in one quick and svelte motion. Sniveling, Bra's crying slowly lessened, then stopped.

"_VEGETA_ you're going to get blood all over her, would you cut it-" Bulma stopped short, bandage in hand, noticing the absence of sobs. "Huh, she stopped crying," she stated, carefully wrapping her husband's arm.

His cheeks and ears immediately flushing, the Saiyan Prince scowled. "She probably did not want to be handled by Kakarot, I'm sure," he said stiffly.

"No, she was crying before you guys came in," the scientist replied. She then grinned, slowly putting the pieces together. "I don't think it's that she _didn't_ want to be held by Goku, Vegeta. I think she _wanted _to be held by _you!_"

Goku, too, grinned. "Aw, she wanted her daddy!" he exclaimed innocently, poking the shorter Saiyan in the ribs.

"SHUT UP, that—that is preposterous!" Vegeta insisted, eye twitching and entire face now a deep shade of red.

At the sound of her father's voice, Bra laughed wildly, prompting both Bulma and Goku to do the same. The Prince of All Saiyans briskly returned the babe to its mother and stormed off.


	19. Chapter 19

Hey all! So, this chapter will be the second to last chapter of this story! Chapter 20 will be my final instalment. I have enjoyed writing it so much, and have loved reading all of your comments and reviews. I hope you'll all check out (and follow?) my new multiple chapter submission (Domesticate You), and be on the lookout for my next work, which will take us to Veggie and Bra during the teen years ;) Thanks again for your support and reads. It means the world 3

Disclaimer: You know the drill

XIX.

Just Like You

Click, click, click…Bulma edged up the volume on the baby monitor, then further settled into the comfort of the plush, king-sized bed. She exhaled deeply, allowing the stress of the day to flow from her exhausted body. She looked over at her husband, who she truly believed was the only being in the universe that could appear un-relaxed 24-7, as he stiffly sat, face pensive. "What's up?" she prodded, sensing there was more than just his usual uptight attitude at work inside the thick Saiyan-skull.

"I do not know why you use that machine. I can hear the child stir without such a device," Vegeta stated indignantly.

The scientist rolled her eyes. "Well, maybe _you_ can, but _I_ can't. Unless that was you offering to check on her every time she fusses for the rest of her childhood?"

"Hn."

"Yeah, I didn't think so. Now, tell me what you're _actually_ being Mr. Moody about." Bulma rolled over, propping her head on her elbow, full attention now on the Saiyan Prince. She had always thought he would master, or at least _improve_, his deflection skills, as he spent so often doing it. But, after many years of marriage, it had become clear this was not the case.

The Saiyan shifted slightly, forever discomforted at the ease with which is mate could read him. If she knew anything about combat, and humans weren't so pathetically weak, she could have been an extremely formidable opponent on the battlefield; she would predict her adversary's every move. "I was thinking about the future," he replied with a sigh, looking down at his crossed arms. "I am concerned."

"About Bra, you mean?" The scientist had caught him lingering over their daughter's crib earlier in the evening, and suspected this behavior was connected to his current temperament.

Vegeta nodded. "I am concerned that…she will be like you."

Bulma blinked. "Well, she could turn out a lot worse!" she snapped, brows furrowing. "Explain, please."

The Saiyan gritted his teeth and shook his head. "I will if you calm down and give me the chance," he growled. The woman was so insufferably hard to please; she was angry when he did not "communicate," yet would become equally angry when he tried to. "This is a fine example—I am the Prince of All Saiyans, the greatest warrior race, and I could decimate you with a single finger. I _should_ for the way you speak to me."

"Ok, not following your logic _at all_," the beautiful scientist replied, crossing her arms. "You're afraid our daughter will grow up and be _rude_ to you? Hello, Vegeta, have you _met_ you? Of course she will. I mean, Kami, that's what teenagers do to their parents—even parents that aren't as difficult as you-"

"No, that is not what I mean," Vegeta interrupted, eye twitching uncontrollably. "I mean, you have no sense! You are a weak human, yet you constantly, _knowingly_ put yourself in harm's way. Even our union was forged after you stupidly allowed me to reside in your home, when I could have easily killed you. I could have," he paused and made a fist, "I could have done whatever I wanted to you because you were foolish enough to trust me. You are always so trusting. She cannot be like that. She will get hurt." The Saiyan imagined his now wife, young and helpless, cavorting about Old Namek while he and numerous other powerful beings decimated the innocents who lived there. One different circumstance and she could have been killed. Hell, it could have been he who killed her. He then imagined his sweet infant daughter, the same beautiful blue hair and eyes, innocently wandering in a universe full of so much evil; he swallowed, hard.

"Hey," Bulma leaned forward, tone suddenly sympathetic, and put a hand on her husband's cheek. "Trusting you is the smartest thing I ever did. And I'm _pre-tty_ smart," she said, running the hand up his cheek, past his ear and into his hair. "She will probably get hurt. Boys will break her heart, and the world won't always be fair. Maybe she'll be adventurous like me, and maybe she'll run off, searching for dragon balls on far away planets. But she won't _just_ be like me. She'll be like you, too—super strong, proud, and _never_ down for the count. Give her the chance to prove herself before you start spending every night _freaking out_." She winked, slinking her leg over his and positioning herself in his lap, arms resting around his neck.

The Saiyan slid his hands around her waist, despite the irritated look on his face. "When are you going to stop accusing me of that?" he queried, gazing intently at his mate.

"When you stop doing it," the genius replied, leaning in and softly kissing his nose. "We're a while away from worrying about any of that just yet," she assured the prince. "But, someday, I do hope she trusts someone like you." She kissed him a second time, and he began to unbutton (with great irritation and little patience) her nightgown.


	20. Chapter 20

Hey, all! I know it's been a long time since I've updated—way too long for those of you are followers of this story. I thank you for your follows, your likes, your reviews and reads. They have brought me so much joy. This is the only chance I get to write within the day to day of my life, and I've been away from it for quite some time. I apologize if I have caused you any ill feelings during the wait for this chapter.

My life has become very busy and full in the best possible ways. Because of this, my stories, I'm sure, will not come around as frequently. But, when I find that rare and special time to write, I promise to share here on my profile what I have created.

So, without further delay, here is the final chapter to my first complete multi-chapter submission. I'm proud of this work in its entirety, and I hope all my readers have enjoyed it. As always, I encourage you to check out my other stories.

Thanks! Xoxo

Disclaimer: I am but a fan! I claim no ownership of DBZ or its wonderful characters.

X.

Family Portrait

"This is absolutely absurd. I should not be required to spend an entire afternoon-"

"Vegeta, seriously, stop being so difficult! It's _one_ family portrait, and your refusal to sit, smile, or pose _at all_ is the reason this is taking so long!" Bulma snapped at her grumpy husband, one hand on her hip, the other balancing her infant.

"The Prince of All Saiyans does not _sit_, _smile_ and _pose_ on command," the warrior countered, cheeks red. "Well, what are you looking at?" He added, making a fist at the clueless photographer, who was staring nervously at the pointy-haired patriarch, wondering distantly where the country of "Saiya" was located.

"Ugh, you're such a brute! Leave him alone. You don't have to smile or pose, just sit down, would you?" the scientist growled, eye twitching.

Cursing under his breath, Vegeta finally relented, agreeing to this compromise. "Fine," he muttered stiffly, perching on the couch next to his wife, posture one of extreme prejudice.

"_Thank_ you." Bulma leaned back into her seat, adjusting Bra in her arms. "Now, say cheese!"

"Say what?" the Saiyan demanded as the photographer snapped a twenty-third unusable candid.

"It's just an expression! It means _smile_. Come on, you've been on Earth for almost _twenty years_ now. Pay attention to human slang every now and then! _I've _learned _all _your weird words!" the heiress shot, flipping her hair.

"My _weird words_? What is _that_ supposed to mean?" Vegeta insisted, standing up again.

"Like Oozaru, AKA giant-killer-monkey form? Or how about Zenkai Boost, AKA almost-die-get-magically-stronger! Given that logic, you should be the strongest man on Earth!" Bulma handed Bra to Trunks, whose cheeks burned with embarrassment.

"_And_ _what are you insinuating_," the Saiyan hissed through gritted teeth, "that I am _not_ the strongest warrior on this irritating planet?"

"Let's go get Goku and _find out!_"

"Erm, Mom, Dad," Trunks interjected timidly, his parents now forehead to forehead. "Maybe we should wait until _after_ we take the picture to continue this…conversation." He glanced at the quivering photographer, who appeared to be beyond lost between all of the shouting and the murder, ape, and alien references.

Realizing her surroundings, Bulma cleared her throat. "Excuse us," she muttered, bowing her head at the photographer and reclaiming her seat. "We just get carried away, you know. Very…passionate." She cleared her throat a second time and sat silently.

Rolling his eyes, Vegeta also returned to his seat. "Let's just get this over with."

"Right, yes," the photographer agreed. Finally, he snapped an acceptable photo (although the grumpy Mr. Brief seemed quite set on refusing to smile). "You have a very beautiful family, Mrs. Brief," he said timidly, folding his camera up and placing it in his carrying case. "You and Mr. Brief must be proud."

Smiling, despite herself, Bulma nodded. "Yes," she said, looking at her children, then her husband, to whom she gave a teasing wink. "Mr. Brief and I are _very_ proud."

Although he grimaced at the name, Vegeta also studied his family thoughtfully. He knew he did not deserve them—the crimes of his past were unspeakable, and could, perhaps, never be forgiven in the grand scheme of the universe. But, as his eyes lingered on his children, he knew he could say without any doubt or hesitation, that he, Vegeta, Prince of All Saiyans, had done _something_ completely and undeniable good in his lifetime.


End file.
